


my mind has lost direction, somehow

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is..., VersaEmerge
Genre: Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So now you’re gone, and I was wrong, and I never knew what it was like to be alone.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	my mind has lost direction, somehow

**Author's Note:**

> this was very much inspired by this story: _[you’re retail, but you’re no therapy](http://kueble-fic.livejournal.com/39735.html)_. I absolutely loved this story when I read it, and, trying to come up with a plot for this, I was reminded of that story, and I just grabbed at it.

_And blew away as I collapsed, so cold._

_A black wind took them away, from sight,_

_And held the darkness over day, that night._

_Monday._

_October 3, 2005._

Brendon can’t even believe it.  _You got the job._   He just keeps repeating that in his head, and he can’t even believe it.  He got the job.

 

He stands in the doorway of his new boss’ office (at his new job), and he waits, hands stuffed in his pockets.  It’s the mall, and it’s a bookstore, but it’s so much better than babysitting and tossing papers on people’s lawns on a borrowed bike.  Not only that, it’s next door to the Disney Store, so if ever he feels utterly bored (which he knows he won’t), he can just shout, and one of his best friends will come poking around, seeing as he doesn’t do anything but make kids giggle and sing children songs all day with his beautiful voice and adorable face.  Brendon smiles; he loves Alex and his obsession with Tigger.

 

Almost as exciting is the fact that Dunkin Donuts is across the way where his other best friend, William, works with his boyfriend, Gabe.  The whole thing just makes him insanely giddy.  He has a job, and he’s near his favorite people while he works.  Brendon honestly doesn’t know what could be better.

 

His boss finally finds whatever he was looking for (it turns out to be a set of standard rules and the such) before leading Brendon around the store and talking his ear off.  “It’s pretty simple.  There’s not much of a dress code, but no open-toed shoes and no obscene t-shirts.  I trust I don’t have to talk about skirts or cleavage with you.”  Brendon thinks he’s supposed to laugh, so he does so, even though his head is starting to feel a little thick.  He actually took his Ritalin this morning because he wanted to impress his new boss at his new job, but he hates how it makes him feel, like his whole body is weighed down and nothing matters.

 

Brendon shakes his head, jumping back into what his boss is saying, “We kind of need an everything guy right now, so I’m going to have you shadow for a while at the registers and probably ring for a week or so, but I’d like you more on the floor, getting familiar with everything, restocking, cleaning, and helping our customers to whatever they’re looking for.  You seem like a very personable man, Brendon.  Your smile and good attitude is key because _that’s_ what will keep people coming back.  This isn’t Barnes  & Noble or something; this is just a little bookstore, but we get a lot of business here, and I want to keep it that way.  Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir, of course,” Brendon says, nodding fervently and trying to shake the ghastly feeling of his medication.

 

“No sir.  Oh, I’m sorry,” he pauses, “My name is Patrick.  I’m just your co-worker, but Ryan asked me to fill you in until he got in.  Anyway, let’s head over to the registers, and you’re going to work with Sierra for today, sound good?”

 

“Sure, thanks.”

 

Sierra is extremely pretty, Brendon decides.  Her hair is brown and blonde and curly, tied up in a messy, loose braid, tossed over her shoulder.  She’s wearing faded grey jeans underneath leather boots and a blue tank top underneath a loose white vneck.  She talks really fast, and she’s always smiling and polite, but Brendon really likes her.

 

“So, what do you think so far?” Sierra asks as a lull hits the store, and they’re left mingling around behind the counter, waiting for people to check out.

 

“It’s not bad.  I think I’ll get the hang of it,” Brendon says with a nod, confident in himself.

 

“Whoops, bitch alert,” she says over her shoulder, and Brendon follows her voice to an approaching man.  He’s wearing a blue and white striped vneck over grey skinnies, and he rolls his eyes before pecking Sierra on the cheek.

 

“Hey, I’m Blake.  You must be the new kid, Brendon,” _Blake_ says, and Brendon isn’t sure if the bitch alert was for him or the _other_ man suddenly standing in front of him.

 

“Ryan,” Sierra says hostilely, though she’s still smiling, “Good to see you.  It’s been steady so far, the lull just approached like a—”

 

“Whatever,” Ryan snaps and is off.  Brendon arches an eyebrow, but Sierra just waves it away before greeting a woman.

 

“Who—” Brendon begins, “—was that?”

 

“Ryan Ross, head bitch of bitchery,” Blake responds before bending at the knees and rifling under the register.  Brendon watches him, and he has to remind himself that Blake kissed Sierra because _he’s goddamn beautiful._

 

“Otherwise known as general manager of the store.  He’s, like, a genius or something,” Sierra picks up.

 

“Considering he’s barely legal,” Blake finishes before straightening with an armful of papers, “I’m gonna set up that new display in the front, mkay, love?  Be good while I’m gone.”  He leaves her with another kiss, this time on the mouth because there’s no one in line, and Sierra just smiles as he leaves.

 

“How long have you been going out?” Brendon asks even though his mind is focused on barely-legal-Ryan-Ross.

 

“Four years.  He keeps saying he’s never going to propose to me because he’s never going to stop working here, so he’ll never be able to afford it.”  Brendon just laughs, and Sierra reads him like a book, “Ryan opened this store when he was fifteen.  No one really believed he could do it, but he’s pretty crazy.  He actually hired Blake two years ago to help him co-own, even though Blake was only fifteen, but it’s been working pretty well with the two of them.  They get along, but no one else can stand him.  I just started here last year, and Blake tells me it was different before _the breakup_.”

 

“You make it sound so ominous,” Brendon chuckles.

 

“Oh, it was,” Blake’s voice suddenly says, and Brendon turns, finding him bent behind the counter again.  “First off, his name was fucking _Ken_.  I mean, seriously, things are going to go bad, _obviously_ , if you’re dating someone named after Barbie’s soul mate.”

 

“Oh, come on, Ken isn’t such a horrid name,” Sierra argues, and Blake stands.

 

“I forgot to introduce myself.”  Brendon turns.  Ryan is standing in front of him, smiling pleasantly, but Brendon sees something he knows Sierra won’t spot.  His face is walled, his emotions locked away, and he knows it’s because he heard Sierra’s last comment, and he knows what they were talking about.  Brendon swallows because all he can think about is how much he hates this _Ken_ because he figures Ryan was probably a pretty awesome guy before him.  “My name is Ryan.  You must be Brendon?” he ends it as a question, and Brendon nods.

 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Brendon says, holding out his hand to shake, and Ryan reciprocates the gesture.  Ryan’s grip slackens for the tiniest of seconds before he grips Brendon’s hand and flips it.

 

“Do you play an instrument?” he asks, skimming the pad of his callused finger with his own.

 

“I-I-I do,” Brendon stutters, staring down at their hands like they’re on fire, “I, uhm, I play a few instruments.”

 

“Which?”

 

“Uh,” Brendon begins, swallowing.  He can’t figure why Ryan’s touch is making him so nervous and lightheaded.  “Guitar, bass guitar, piano, drums, accordion, organ, cello, violin, and trumpet.”  Blake whistles as Ryan smiles, and Brendon notes this one looks genuine, if only for a split second before Ryan drops his hand, and Brendon’s knuckles bounce off the counter.  He clenches his jaw, trying not to let the sudden flare of pain show on his face as he retracts his hand and rubs his knuckles.

 

And that was the end of their conversation.  Ryan walks away without another word, something clouding his features, and Brendon watches as he slips silently into his office in the back.  Something doesn’t feel right, especially with the way Blake is staring at him, even as he crosses back over to the front and works on his display.

 

“Sierra,” he begins uncertainly, blinking, “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Ryan plays guitar,” she murmurs, turning away from him, “Blake said he always used to play in here, just when it got slow and he didn’t have anything better to do.  He hasn’t played since Ken.”

 

“What happened to them?”

 

“They dated for seven years, _seven years_ , Brendon.  That’s incredible, especially starting at such a young age, and then Ryan proposed, on Valentine’s Day, in this store.”  There’s a pause as Sierra helps a few customers, and it eats away at Brendon.

 

“And?” he finally asks.

 

“That’s the end of the story,” she says sadly, blinking and looking down at the counter, “There was no yes or no, not anything.  Ken just left.  Ryan hasn’t heard from him since, and the one time Blake tried to confront him, he threatened to call the cops should any of us come near him again.”

 

Brendon falls into a lapse of silence until Blake comes back over, finished with his display, an hour later.  “I’m stealing your new boy toy for some heavy lifting.”  He spends the rest of his shift with Blake, moving things and restocking shelves until they’re finally getting ready to close that night at ten o’clock and someone slips under the bars at the door.

 

“We’re closed!” Sierra calls, but the customer just waves and stops at the counter.

 

“Is Brendon here?”

 

Brendon’s head snaps at his name, and he smiles.  “Sorry, Sierra, he’s my ride.”

 

“Oh, okay.  You can stay, then.”  William hops onto the counter and chats with her while Brendon finishes the last of his duties, punches out, and pulls William out of the store.  He talks nonstop all the way to the car, even filling Gabe in when they catch him by the front door.  They both listen patiently, even laughing and joking with him at all the right parts.  And Brendon couldn’t be happier, except for the nagging feeling in the back of his head about Ryan.

 

\--

 

_And the clouds above move closer,_

_Looking so dissatisfied._

_But the heartless wind kept blowing, blowing._

_Tuesday._

_November 15, 2005._

Brendon pops over to Dunkin Donuts on his break and is greeted with a polite smile and a, “Hello, how can I help you?  Corporate is here,” William whispers under his breath.  Brendon catches the hint and orders a strawberry Coolatta just like any other normal customer.  Gabe, however, smacks his ass on the way out.

 

He retreats to the Disney Store where Alex is nowhere to be found, and so he wanders the mall until he gets bored and heads outside.  He has a whole half hour and no idea what to do.  He isn’t hungry because he’s still been taking his Ritalin, and he even feels a little sick.  He really hates the little pills of hell.

 

Brendon looks up as a noise catches his attention.  He frowns, walking toward it until the noise defines itself into a moan.  “Fuck,” he hears, and he blinks, stopping.  He _knows_ that voice.

 

He follows it, peeking around the corner into some deserted, dark alley around the edge of the mall, and his fucking best friend is getting head.  Brendon gapes at Alex and at the curly-haired fellow bent on his knees before him.  Alex, baby Alex, who wasn’t even eighteen yet, is standing there, pressed against the wall, with some stranger sucking him off.

 

Brendon turns away because, _really_ , he doesn’t think he can handle that.  But then Alex moans again and Brendon hears a name, “Ian,” come out as a gasp.  Ian.  He remembers an Ian.  _Oh my God, Bren, he’s so cute.  He really, really is, and I totally have a crush on him._

“Ian,” he repeats out loud before sighing.  He knew about Ian three months ago, but he kept forgetting his name because he hadn’t seen him in person.  And Brendon decides to be an ass because this is _his_ baby Alex (and, plus, he hasn’t gotten laid in almost a year, so it’s really not fair, he decides), and he lets out this _shriek_ that is sure to separate them.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Alex grunts, and Brendon can hear them shifting around.

 

“Just let me finish you,” Ian, Brendon guesses, says, and Alex whines.  “Please,” Ian mumbles, and Brendon peeks around the corner to see them kissing now and Ian’s hand fisted below Alex’s waist.  He sighs.  He wants that so bad, someone who actually cares about him.

 

Brendon sighs again before heading out (he _really_ doesn’t need to listen to Alex finish), scuffing his feet as he goes about his way.  He finally meanders back into the mall after throwing up his breakfast in the bathroom (he hates his Ritalin, honestly), and he jumps on register when he returns to the bookstore even though Sierra is there and there’s not _too_ many people.  He just feels sick, and his head is starting to hurt.

 

Nearly an hour later, he’s pretty sure he’s going to vomit soon, and so he begs Blake to cover him while he skirts out and finds the nearest bathroom.  When he returns, his eyes are heavy and his throat feels dry.  Blake pulls him aside, worry written all over his face.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, rubbing Brendon’s arm affectionately.

 

“Yea, I just… my meds are kind of screwing with me today,” he admits, not really caring that he just told one of the store managers that he’s on medication.  Whatever.  He probably looks like he’s hung over or something already.

 

“Do you want to go home early?”

 

“No, I think I’ll be alright.  I’m just going to get a drink from the bubbler, okay?”

 

“Yea, sure thing.”  And so Brendon heads down the hall to the bubbler a few stores away.  His watch beeps as he straightens, and he sighs.  He hates everything about Ritalin.

 

\--

 

_Thursday._

_November 17, 2005._

Brendon thanks the security guard that lets him in that morning, and he’s about to head into the mall when he hears his name.  He turns halfway, the door still open, and he actually smiles as he sees Ryan hurrying over to him.

 

“Glad I could catch you,” Ryan says, touching his elbow before they enter, and Brendon blinks.  “I have some good and bad news.  Good news, I’m not going to yell at you for that,” he says, motioning to the guitar case, “Bad news, I have to ask you to stay til close.”  Brendon blinks again, not really sure he heard him right.  “I know, I know,” Ryan says, touching Brendon’s elbow again, “But Sierra came down with the flu, and Blake can’t work Thursdays because he has class because he’s, like, _smart_ or something,” Ryan pauses to grin, and Brendon is momentarily shocked by his openness, “And so I’m kind of _super_ short-staffed today, especially because Sierra and Vic were my closers.  Vic is…” Ryan trails off, brow furrowing.

 

“Vic has the funeral today.  You accidentally scheduled him, remember?”

 

“Oh, right!  What would I do without you?” Ryan smiles.

 

“What about Hayley, Josh, and Patrick?  They’re not working today?”

 

“Hayley had some family emergency and called out, _of course_.”  Brendon smirks; Hayley is known for this, and he’s pretty sure she’s going to be fired soon anyway because of it.  “Josh also can’t work Thursdays because of class, and Patrick won’t answer his phone.”

 

“Wait… so is it just you and me today?”

 

“Uh, yea,” Ryan admits, shrugging, “It’s supposed to be slow today anyway.  Or, at least, that’s my weather prediction.  Partially why I called you in an hour early today was because Hayley had already called out, and I want to get all the tidying up done before the store opens so we won’t have much to work with over the day.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Brendon says, smiling.  He pops a Tylenol while Ryan opens the door, chasing it down with his water, and they set about business, cleaning up and getting the place ready.  Brendon starts hefting boxes out of the back for their new shipment, and he’s just stocking books onto a few rows of empty shelves when he hears the register drawer shut.

 

He pauses, curious.  He never thought he’d see Ryan behind a register, and it’s almost an amusing idea.  He finishes with his boxes and dumps them in the back before heading up front.  “Hey, do you want me to hop on or finish the stocking?” he asks as Ryan thanks a customer and bids them good day.

 

“Nah, you can finish them, if you want.  Hey, are you feeling better?”  Brendon nods, surprised he actually remembered.  “Actually, you know,” Ryan says, reaching under the counter and bringing up a bell, “We’ve done this before on days like this; they can call us if they need us.”

 

“Do people actually ring it?” Brendon asks, testing it out with his forefinger.

 

“Oh yea, all the time.  Besides, the drawer is locked, and my security system is ridiculous.”  Ryan grins again before coming around the counter to follow Brendon into the back.  Their stream of conversation is nonstop, and Brendon is amazed by how open Ryan is around him, how easily he can make him laugh and talk, even about the most mundane things.

 

Two hours after they’ve opened, Brendon’s watch goes off, and he knocks it against the wall.  He’s carrying one end of a box while Ryan takes the other, and they’re carrying it to the front for their new display.  A new one goes up every month, and they’re late getting this one up.

 

“What’s that for?” Ryan asks as they come out of the back.

 

“Just a reminder,” Brendon says, and Ryan, thankfully, doesn’t ask.  And then Brendon forgets.  He feels himself unwinding throughout the day, and he can’t pinpoint why until he’s helping a customer, and his mind is running freely, watching everything around him.  He forgot.

 

But he feels _good_ and actually happy, and the devil in his ear convinces him to conveniently _forget_ for the rest of the day.  Later, around seven, three hours before they close, Brendon hops up onto the counter and pulls his guitar from his case, fingers plucking at the strings lightly.  They’ve been dead about twenty minutes, and he hasn’t seen anyone strolling along the halls, so he decides it’s safe.

 

Playing guitar is one of the few times he can actually control his mind enough to concentrate on what he’s doing, but today it drifts off to Ryan’s hunched figure, curled around a book and leaning against one of the shelves.  He soaks in his frame, thin and tall, and he’s reminded suddenly of how young Ryan is.  Brendon thinks of Ken, and he suddenly hates him.  No one should ever have to go through that.

 

Ryan straightens suddenly, dog-ears his book, and heads over to the register.  “Do you like Umi?”

 

“Chicken?” Brendon confirms, grinning when Ryan nods.

 

“I’ll get it; what d’you want?”  Brendon starts to move his guitar to fish in his pockets when Ryan reaches forward and catches his wrist.  “I’m paying.  I know you’re saving up for something; I’m just an ass and can’t remember.”

 

“Grand piano,” Brendon chuckles, “It’s more of a stupid dream.”  Ryan holds up a finger, and Brendon watches him curiously as he comes around the counter, and Brendon tries not to think about how Ryan’s _face_ is behind his _ass_.  Ryan returns with a small cardboard box that he rips the flaps off.  He settles next to Brendon on the counter, hips touching and elbows grazing as he scribbles with his sharpie.  As he sets it down, Brendon can barely contain his smile.  _hopeless dream for a grand piano by your charming boy cashier_

“Do me a favor and put the ten you’d spend on crappy Chinese in that box,” he says as he’s walking off, and Brendon is just doing so when he hears footsteps.  He looks up from his guitar, and he smiles in greeting to the customer.  The man, in his nice suit, walks by, and he spends a good five minutes meandering around the store until he comes up to the counter, empty-handed.

 

“Can I help you find something?” Brendon asks, putting his guitar behind the counter and hopping off to appear pleasant and helpful.  The man is much taller, and he’s standing too close, so Brendon feels especially short.  He feels like he’s being sized up before the man steps back and opens his mouth, revealing pearly white teeth.

 

“Is Ryan in?”

 

“Uh, no, actually, you just missed him.  He’s off getting dinner.”  The man nods, and Brendon looks back at him, his eyebrows shrugged up under his hair.

 

“Are you fucking him?” he comes right out, and Brendon almost chokes.

 

“N-N-No,” he coughs, stepping back, “He’s just my boss.”

 

“I see.  What’s your name?  I don’t remember seeing you in here.”

 

“I just started in October.”

 

“Brendon,” he reads off the name tag, “How old are you, Brendon?”

 

“Can I help you find a book?” Brendon stammers, backing another step away, but he’s suddenly cornered, pressed against the counter with this _man_ leering over him.

 

“I’ll ask you once more,” he growls out in a low, frightening voice.  Brendon can feel his fingers shaking, and it occurs to him that he really should have taken his Ritalin; he’d be able to focus so much more on what’s going on right now.

 

“Get the fuck out,” a new voice says, and both Brendon and the perfectly tanned man turn as Ryan walks in.  “I don’t want to say it twice!” he yells, coming over and setting the white containers down.  When the man doesn’t move, Ryan actually puts his hands on him and shoves him out of the way.  “Do I have to call the police?” he screams, “Get out of my store!”

 

“Nice way to treat your customers, Mr. Ross.”

 

“Don’t fucking Mr. Ross me, you asshole.  You have no right to be in this store.  In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s _against the goddamn law_.”

 

“Oh what, because you put a restraining order out, you think that means I can’t shop here?”

 

“DID YOU NOT READ IT, DICKWAD?”  Brendon just stares.  He can’t even believe this side of Ryan, and he’s almost afraid.  Sierra’s constant bitch alerts seem laughable in comparison to this.  “You are to stay away from me, Blake, _and_ my store!”  The man just looks at him, this look of disgust and hatred.  And then Ryan snaps, his fingers curling and his arm flying.  The man blinks, groaning against the force of Ryan’s fist as he stumbles back a few steps.  “Get out, Ken,” Ryan whispers, his voice shaking and low.

 

Brendon is pretty sure he might die.

 

Everyone seems to hold their breaths until Ken finally pushes past Ryan, and Brendon isn’t sure what to do next.  It hadn’t occurred to him before that Ryan and Blake actually _did_ know what happened to Ken and just refused to speak about it.  Brendon’s brought back to the present as Ryan looks away, hiding his face, but Brendon can see the familiar shudder of his shoulders, and, for once, he restrains his instincts.  This is his boss.  He has to remind himself that because, no matter how much he wants to comfort Ryan, he doesn’t need some sexual harassment stamp on his record that’ll follow him for the rest of his job life.

 

But then Ryan straightens and takes a deep breath.  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, lifting his sleeve up to his face for a moment before turning back, and Brendon suddenly doesn’t care.  Ryan looks like he’s about to break, his eyes welling with tears and his lips trembling.  His fingers shake as he curls them around the edges of his long sleeve shirt, and Brendon just bites his lip and hops off the counter, three long strides bringing him to Ryan, who barely has time to react before Brendon swipes his thumb across Ryan’s cheek and takes his hand.

 

“Don’t let him get to you.  You’re better than that.  You deserve so much more than that.  You hear me?  You’re an amazing person, Ryan.  You may be kind of scary and bitchy, but I consider you one of my better friends.  _Don’t let him stop you_.”

 

  1. Uhm,” he breaks off, clears his throat, continues, “Let’s eat, okay?    I’d say we could close early, but last time I did that, I had to listen to the mall manager lecture me for an hour about proper conduct as a manager or whatever.”



 

Brendon just smiles and offers him a small laugh before pulling him over to the counter.  And they sit side-by-side, occasionally moving to help customers, Brendon’s beam bright everytime someone reads the box, laughs, and sticks a dollar or some change in, and doing their best to entertain each other and make the other smile.

 

\--

 

_I used to be my own protection, but not now,_

_Cos my path has lost direction, somehow._

_A black wind took you away, from sight,_

_And held the darkness over day, that night._

_Wednesday._

_December 21, 2005._

In his haste this morning, Brendon is surprised he actually looks okay.  However, he did forget to lace his Doc Marten boots all the way, and his hair is kind of acting weird.  Blake makes fun of him as he runs in and makes a beeline for the backroom where he sets down his slightly unzipped backpack and pats down his hair, actually bringing a comb out from the outer pocket and fixing his part.  He stuffs his white button-up back into his black skinnies where it’s come out, and then he checks to make sure he buttoned the right ones on his black vest before rolling up his sleeves and picking up his bag again.  He waits, nods, and continues back out and down a door to Ryan’s office.  He holds his breath as he knocks, and he actually sends a little prayer (which he hasn’t done in who knows how long) before marching in.

 

“You’re here early,” Ryan comments, not looking up from his packet of papers.  He’s skimming through, and Brendon waits until he’s done and signs it by way of closing the door and sitting down, thumbs fiddling in his lap.  “And you’re nervous about something.  Or you’re hyped up on caffeine,” Ryan notes, finally meeting his eyes.

 

“I’m not allowed to have caffeine.  Personal decision.  Bad idea,” he says all in a rush, and he _definitely_ should have taken his Ritalin this morning.

 

“Are you okay?  Your hands are shaking.”

 

“I totally fucked up,” he admits, and his leg starts jiggling until he puts both hands on his thigh, stopping it.  “It was just there, and it was hungry, and I can’t stop thinking of names for it now, and fuck, Ryan, _I’m not even allowed a fish_ , never mind a cat.”  Ryan just blinks, and he looks like he might laugh until he realizes just how much Brendon is freaking out.

 

“Is this your first apartment or something?”

 

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head vigorously, “It’s my third.  Just, just, fuck.  I don’t have money to take care of it, and I don’t know what to do.”

 

His backpack mewls.  Brendon groans and hangs his head.

 

“Oh my God, you brought a kitten to my store,” Ryan says, and Brendon’s head snaps up, thinking he’s mad until he realizes Ryan isn’t sitting across from him but is instead kneeling by the backpack and unzipping it.  He lifts the tiny little kitten out of the inside, and it instantly starts nipping at his fingers until Ryan settles back in his chair and plops it down on his desk where it stalls for a minute before exploring _everything_.  And then Ryan _giggles_.

 

“I guess why I’m really here is because I want to ask you to take care of it for, like, a week until I can get another job or convince you to give me more shifts so I can keep it.”

 

“Brendon,” Ryan cuts him off, scratching the kitten behind the ear, “First of all, she is a girl, and secondly, I have a house.  So, how about, instead of sneaking under your landlord’s nose, I keep the kitten, and you can have visiting rights, _I guess_.”

 

“I hope you realize that means I’m going to be spending _a lot_ of time at your house.  She’s fucking _adorable_.”

 

“You have to name her, though.  I’m horribly uncreative with things like that.”

 

“Are you really serious?”

 

“Yes.  Look, neither of us are closing today, so we’ll go out after work and get her food and the likes, okay?  Calm down, Brendon, it’s not the end of the world.”

 

“And here I was thinking I was going to have to send the planet’s cutest cat to some stinky, disgusting shelter.”

 

“Nah, she’ll be safe.  You said you found her outside your door?”

 

“I don’t know how she got in, but it looked like she’d been outside scratching for a while.  She was so thirsty when she first came in, and I only had some sandwich meat and cheese that she seemed interested in.”

 

“You didn’t give her milk, right?”

 

“No, water.  But, uh, what are we going to do about her until you’re out?”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got an idea.  Here, take her up to the counter after you punch in, and I’ll meet you there.”

 

“Thank you so much, Ryan.”

 

“No problem.  Now get.”

 

Brendon does as told, shouldering his backpack and lifting the kitten in one hand.  He cradles her in both as he walks back out to the front, and Sierra almost has a heart attack.

 

“Shut up, is this our new mascot?  I’ve been complaining that we need one.”

 

“Does Ryan know about that?” Blake butts in, coming over rather quickly.

 

“Be quiet, Blake, I’m having a moment,” Sierra comments, shoving Brendon in front of her to help customers as she scoops the kitten out of his hands.  She’s grey and white, just a little tuxedo (<http://kittencats.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Grey-Kitten.jpg>), and Brendon can’t help but smile as she mewls and tries to wriggle free from Sierra.

 

“Yes, I know about her.  She’s staying just for today until I can bring her home.  Sierra, she hates you,” he adds as he puts a large box down behind the counter.  “She stays in there.  I don’t need customers freaking out.”  Sierra reluctantly plops the kitten down in the box, and Brendon turns as Ryan touches his elbow.  There’s this smile plastered on Ryan’s face that reaches all the way up to his eyes, making them crinkle at the edges, and Brendon mentally pats himself on the back.  “Thank you,” Ryan mouths, and Brendon just shrugs.

 

The end of his shift couldn’t come quick enough.  He shuts _Imogen_ (Ryan wouldn’t stop making fun of him for that) in his backpack as Ryan stops by and taps him on the shoulder before going over to talk with Blake.  They argue over some managerial things until Ryan finally releases him, and he and Brendon make their way down the hall and toward the main stairs.

 

Ryan leads him out to the parking lot and over to a _1967 Buick Skylark convertible_ , and it’s _red_.  Brendon’s jaw drops, and Ryan just laughs and opens the door for him like the gentleman that he is.  Brendon sets the backpack down at his feet and Imogen in his lap as Ryan climbs in the other side, and they head off to Pet Smart.  Once there, Brendon cradles Imogen against him and follows Ryan into the store, looking almost as lost as he’s sure his kitten feels.

 

“Here,” Ryan says, pushing a carriage toward him, “Put her in there, and go find hard food, soft treats, and toys, if you want.  I’ll get the other stuff.”  Brendon nods before heading out, and he settles Imogen in the seat up top, occasionally scratching her head and petting her back.

 

“Oh, how cute!” a voice suddenly coos as he’s stretching to retrieve salmon-flavored treats.  He settles back onto his heels as his gaze falls on this _nearly orange_ girl in tight white dress with pink flowers and a pink bow wrapped underneath her bust.  She has on matching pink heels and long blonde hair.  Brendon isn’t really sure what season she thinks it is.  “Can I pat her?” she asks, but she’s already stroking Imogen on the nose and over her head with one ringed forefinger.  Brendon just gapes at her.  “My name is Alexis,” she introduces, smiling at him.

 

“Brendon,” he returns, nodding and setting Imogen’s treats down in his basket.  They actually get to talking, and Alexis knows a surprising bit about cats, so she helps him pick out the right food, a small amount of catnip, and some rather playful toys.  He’s enjoying her company up until Ryan appears, and Brendon watches as he looks at Alexis, looks back at the way she touches Brendon’s elbow before pointing to a toy, and then frowns.  It hits Brendon like a ton of bricks.  Alexis is touching his elbow, his elbow that _Ryan_ touches.  He was so busy trying to keep his job and be a good employee and not freak the fuck out without his Ritalin that he hadn’t even noticed the signs.  _Ryan touches my elbow_ , was all he could think.

 

“Hey, are we all set?” he asks, bringing Ryan out of his stupor as Alexis waves a feather toy in front of Imogen’s face, causing the little kitten to mewl and swat furiously at it.

 

“Uh, yea,” Ryan says, blinking, and Brendon watches how his face slowly walls up, shutting him out.  He remembers that day when Ryan bought him Chinese, when they were all alone in the store, remembers how _open_ he was, and it all comes crashing down around him.  Ryan likes him.  As more than an employee.  As more than a friend.

 

“Sorry, we’re on a tight schedule,” Brendon lies, “It was nice meeting you.  Thank you so much for your help.”

 

“Yea, no problem.  Uhm, this is kind of forward of me, but here’s my number,” she pauses to take his wrist and click a pen, “Call me sometime,” and she releases his wrist after she’s scratched out ten numbers on his palm.  She leaves with a wave, and Brendon feels like he has to explain, but Ryan doesn’t let him.

 

“C’mon, we should probably get you home.”  And it occurs to Brendon that he might never get to see Imogen again.

 

\--

 

Brendon grunts and flops his hand toward his nightstand where his phone is sitting, yanking it off the charger and punching the speaker phone button.

 

“Urie comma Brendon here.  Your face is full of ass for calling me this late.”

 

“It’s early, technically.”  Ryan’s voice jolts him out of his bitchy mood, and he pushes up on his elbows (one of them being Ryan’s elbow _that he touches_ ), confused.  “You’re coming over.”  It’s not even a question.  It’s a flat out statement, and it kind of pisses Brendon off.

 

“Fuck you I am.  I’m going back to sleep.”

  
“Bren, I’m sorry,” he rushes out before Brendon can hang up, and it’s the nickname, not the apology, that catches his attention.  Then there’s little _meow_ in the background, and Brendon’s heart melts.

 

“I hate you so much.  I’m not getting pretty for you.”

 

“I don’t care.  I’m in my boxers.”

 

“Ugh, put on pants.”  And he hangs up.

 

Brendon shuffles around his small apartment, not taking care to flick on the light switch, and he ends up in a pair of faded, light, tight jeans and a soft red vneck before he plops down on his bed again, face first.  It takes him five minutes before he gets up to find his grey sweatshirt and a pair of mismatched socks, and he’s just uncaringly and sloppily not-lacing his Doc Martens when his phone rings again.  Ryan.

 

“ _What_?” he whines obnoxiously.

 

“I don’t want to put pants on.”

 

“Too fucking bad.  I already did.”

 

“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”

 

“Briefs.  Have you seen my pants?  I don’t think they make them tighter.”

 

“Uh, I totally have tighter pants than you do.  What color?”

 

“You’re a freak.  Purple,” he adds after checking.

 

“Oh, I’m totally in like with you.”  And Ryan hangs up.

 

Brendon shrugs and continues getting ready, grabbing his leather jacket and shrugging it on before searching through his apartment until he can find his _goddamn fucking glasses_ , he mutters about.  He shoves those up onto his nose, glares at his case of abandoned Ritalin, and heads out the door.  His car is used and crappy, but it runs, though he’s shivering from the cold because his heater doesn’t work.

 

“I don’t fucking know where you live,” he says when Ryan picks up on the fourth ring, “And stop taking forever to answer the phone.  What are you doing, jacking off in front of a kitten?  You’re sick in the head, man.”

 

“I was waiting for you, thank you very much.”

 

“RYAN, DON’T HANG UP.”

 

“Oh yea, you need my address.  I totally almost did, too.”  Ryan starts to give him directions, gets lazy and forgets to at red lights until Brendon whines incomprehensible things, and, by the time he finally pulls into Ryan’s driveway, he thinks he’s turning into a popsicle.

 

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” Ryan comments, pushing the shaking Brendon inside.

 

“I don’t have heat in my car,” he manages to stumble out, arms wrapped around himself.  Ryan looks at him for a moment, battling internally, before stepping forward and crushing their bodies together, offering his heat.  He pulls back after a few minutes and after Brendon can feel his fingers again, and he presses his palms to Brendon’s cheeks, squishing his face a little.

 

“How’s that?” Ryan asks, face full of worry.

 

Brendon isn’t entirely sure what came over him in that moment, but all of a sudden the inches between their faces are gone, and his lips are on Ryan’s.  He’s also not entirely sure what comes over Ryan because he _definitely_ just moaned into Brendon’s mouth and held him closer.

 

Imogen meows and rubs against them, which startles them apart, and Brendon clears his throat, looking away from Ryan’s face.  His pants are tight and tight _ening_ , and it really isn’t helping that Ryan totally ignored him and isn’t wearing pants.  There’s such tension between them, and Brendon is starting to feel uncomfortable until Ryan steps forward and curls a finger under his chin.

 

“I’m kind of fucked up,” he whispers, and Brendon controls his smile.

 

“I have severe ADHD.  That’s why I was shaking earlier.  I haven’t taken my Ritalin in a few months because it makes me sick and _ugh_.”

 

“Like, really fucked up.  I mean.  I just.  I want you so bad right now, but I’m so afraid.”

 

“I won’t hurt you.”

 

Their confessions are out in the air, their darkest secrets, and it seems to clear the air because Ryan closes their distance further and sweeps Brendon’s mouth up in a lusty kiss, bringing their bodies close, and it feels so right.  It doesn’t matter what’s in their past or what might happen tomorrow.  All Ryan knows is he is _so happy with this man_.

 

_On a Valentine’s Day,_

_I used to be my own protection, but not now._

_Cos my mind has lost direction, somehow._

_  
_

**Author's Note:**

> UGH, RYDEN REQUESTS. YOU’RE MAKING ME LIKE HIM AGAIN, STOP IT.
> 
> N’awh, actually, this was amazingly fun to write. I set out thinking I was just going to be doing a little oneshot and then BAM. This was so great; I had _such_ a good time writing this, so thank you for requesting this, dear.
> 
> Also, this picture: ad;kfja;dfkj (http://weheartit.com/entry/11435315). This is what I found before writing this last scene and what inspired all the cute and such. I don’t know, I just went _d’awwwwwh_ big time. Like seriously. Anyway, I’m outski. KEEP REQUESTING, ERRYBODY.


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